


In the Light, Remember

by language_escapes



Series: Chosen and Defined 'Verse [2]
Category: St Trinian's, St Trinian's (2007 2009)
Genre: Atheism, Atheist Character, Character of Faith, Christmas, Family of Choice, Gen, Hanukkah, Holidays, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Judaism, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-05
Updated: 2010-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly has her miracles, Kelly has the memory of a Saviour, but all Annabelle has is popcorn on a string.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Light, Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Completely unBeta'd. All of Polly's Chanukah ritual comes from the Velveteen Rabbi, aka Rachel Barenblat, and can be found at http://velveteenrabbi.com/ChanukahRitual.pdf. I am not Jewish, so please let me know if I got something wrong. Happy Chanukah, everyone!

Most girls at St. Trinian’s aren’t particularly religious. Especially the Geeks. For Geeks, the lack of empirical evidence of a “Divine Being” (and you can hear the air quotes whenever a Geek speaks) means that there may be no “Divine Being,” and so most do not worship a “Divine Being.”

“Why,” Annabelle asks Kelly one day, after a particularly fiery debate over lunch, “does everyone refer to God as a ‘Divine Being’?”

Kelly peers into the mirror, carefully reapplying her lipstick. Once it’s to her liking, she looks at Annabelle and grins. “Because it’s the most neutral term they could come up with. God, Goddess, Vishnu, Buddha, Flying Spaghetti Monster- the Geeks don’t want to accidentally _exclude_ a divinity they don’t believe in.”

So most St. Trinian’s girls are atheists and agnostics. Annabelle is among them. Her father thought God was a bunch of hocus-pocus created in order to control people and frisk them of their money, and her father is very attached to his money. “If anybody is going to rob people of their money,” he’d sniffed, “it’s going to be me.” She’s content with her atheism. She celebrates Christmas and ignores the “Christ” part. She enjoys presents, she loved Santa as a girl, and now that she’s older, she loves giving presents and watching as other people light up at her perfect selections.

Come the holiday season, Annabelle watches as everyone around her gets into mood. They begin stringing up lights (and each other), and she sits with a bunch of Emo girls in cutting out snowflakes. Admittedly, her shapes are a little more traditional and don’t depict the Grim Reaper and decapitated heads, but she supposes that The Nightmare Before Christmas can be watched at Christmas as well as Halloween, and so it’s just as seasonal. She and Taylor bicker amicably over where the tinsel should go (it’s boobytrapped), and she wins the vote over removing the spiders from the mistletoe (mistletoe should _always_ be romantic, even if the twins disagree, and she eventually wins with the “potential blackmail” argument), and there is not enough fireplace space in the entire school for everyone’s stocking (as if it matters- according to Andrea everyone always gets coal). Anoushka teaches her how to make eggnog- though she’s sure it’s not supposed to be that potent- and Chelsea and Chloe model the latest “Santa’s Little Helper” outfits for her, and overall, Annabelle thinks this is going to be the best Christmas ever.

Except for Polly.

Polly, much to Annabelle’s indignation, has not participated in any of the festivities. She has not hung a stocking, she has not trimmed a single Christmas tree (they have ten- ten!), she has not even donned a Santa’s hat. Admittedly, that may be because it would clash horribly with her hair, but Chelsea has kindly offered alternatives for people whose hair or complexion would not suit with the holiday colors. She’s been wearing blue, as always, and keeping herself locked away in the one room that everyone has told Annabelle she is absolutely not allowed to decorate for the holiday.

“We don’t decorate that room for Christmas,” Kelly said offhandly, taking a drag from her cigarette. “That’s the special room.”

“What, for Scrooges?” Annabelle said nastily, and Kelly glared at her and glided away in a way that indicated that if it weren’t beneath her, she’d be stomping and slamming doors.

Annabelle thought that was a little unwarranted.

If she’s honest, Annabelle can see that there are other girls who don’t appear to be involved in the holiday celebrations. It’s just that Polly is the oldest and her friend, and it hurts her feelings. Harriet Bamford isn’t involving herself, but Harriet seems to distance herself from anything fun, and of course Peaches isn’t really involved, but Peaches is Muslim, and while she laughs at all the gewgaws and frippery, Kelly has already told her that come Christmas Day, she’ll be sleeping in and ignoring it all.

And Celia.

******  
“Celia, why aren’t you celebrating Christmas?” she asks one day, walking with her through the snow. Annabelle can’t figure out why she doesn’t just _ask Polly_ , but Polly doesn’t exactly invite questions. Celia looks at her in surprise and squats down suddenly, pulling off her mittens to scoop up some snow.

“Oh, well, I was raised Jewish. I’m not now, but I never celebrated Christmas as a kid, and never really got in the habit. Does this snow look healthy to you?”

Annabelle has no idea what healthy snow looks like, and listens to Celia mutter unhappily about the effects of global warming on precipitation, trying to learn something and failing miserably. What she does figure out, and kicks herself for not making the obvious connection, is that maybe Polly isn’t secular. Maybe Polly is religious, and it isn’t Christian.

She wonders if there is something in the water at St. Trinian’s that makes her stupider, slower, and less sensitive than usual. Really, she used to be such a lovely girl.

******  
“Polly, are you religious?” she asks, tromping snow into the dorm room, ignoring the fact that Celia is behind her and hauling a sled full of the stuff. Polly looks up from her bed and sighs when she sees Celia.

“Celia, not near the computers, please,” she says, sounding harassed. Celia looks at her blankly for a moment.

“But-”

“I will make Bianca get her tongs,” Polly threatens darkly, and Celia turns right around, the sled hushing out behind her. Annabelle starts to laugh, but Polly turns the dark look on her and snaps her fingers. “Boots, off. There is delicate equipment in this room. Honestly, you’d think we were all heathens here.”

Annabelle yanks her boots off quickly and tosses them through the dorm door. She hears someone yelp in alarm and winces. Oops. When she looks up again, Polly has returned to her laptop, as if she didn’t even ask a question when she walked in the door. Of course. Polly’s ability to concentrate is legendary.

“Polly, are you religious?” she tries again. Polly looks up and pushes an errant strand of red hair out of her face. She frowns.

“Yes,” she says, and goes back to her work. Annabelle blinks. She had expected some elaboration on the point.

“I-ok. Which religion?”

Polly looks up again, squints at her, pushes her glasses back, and then sits back. “This is going to be a conversation, isn’t it? I’m Jewish. Reform Judaism, if you wish to be precise, which I presume you do.”

Annabelle didn’t know there were different forms of Judaism, actually, so no, but Polly likes precision, so she’ll roll with it. She walks over and sits on the end of Polly’s bed, careful not to disrupt the piles of paper there. They’re all in a different language. She doesn’t even try to figure out what they’re about. “Is that why you don’t participate in any of the Christmas celebrations?”

Polly’s lips quirk. “I think the first part of the word is a pretty good reason why a Jew typically doesn’t participate.”

“Yeah, but most of us here aren’t exactly good Christians.”

“It’s not my celebration. I have my own holidays.”

Annabelle sighs. “I wish we celebrated Chanukah.”

Polly blinks at her and frowns. “We do. Well. In a way. Everyone celebrates the first and last day with the Jewish St. Trinian’s girls. Have done for a few years now. Didn’t Kelly tell you?”

Annabelle stares at her, dumbfounded. The only thing Kelly has told her in the past two days is to keep her schedule open for tomorrow at- at sunset.

Oh.

“I think I was meant to be surprised. Because I’ve been a bit of a berk about, ah, you not participating in all of this,” she admits. Polly nods.

“Well, you were doing it out of friendship at least. Not because you hate Jews. I hope,” Polly adds, giving her a look, her eyes going flinty. “Because the last person who said they hated Jews was never found. And you’ve been doing so much better here.”

Annabelle is very grateful that, despite all of her father’s issues, he didn’t raise her to be anti-Semitic.

******  
“If only four girls in the school are Jewish,” Annabelle asks, struggling to arrange her hair into something acceptable neat and yet St. Trinian’s-y, “then why does everyone _always_ attend the first night of Chanukah?”

It’s addressed to the room at large. It’s just her closest friends, the ones she feels she can ask her questions to without getting tarred and feathered (again…), the ones she worked with on the Museum Heist. She doesn’t know why they’re all getting dressed for Chanukah. She doesn’t know if that’s what is supposed to happen. She suspects it’s different for families, when it’s just in small households or large households, but this almost feels like church. Not like she’d know. She’s only been in a church once, and that was to wait for her father while she swindled some woman out of her Gauguin. It had smelled funny.

“Do you know the story of Chanukah, Annabelle?” Andrea asks. Annabelle shrugs. Her father had been quite adamant about the atheism. She’s not even sure she knows the story about Jesus, and she lives in England, for God’s sake.

“Something about oil…?”

“I’m not Jewish, and I don’t tell the story well- get Polly to tell it sometime, she tells it great, but there was this rebellion and stuff, and Judaism had been banned, and the Jews won it and stuff. And the Jews were going to cleanse their temple, rededicate it and whatnot, right? And they had to keep their lamps burning all day and all night for eight days, but there was only enough oil for one night,” Taylor says. She braids her hair carefully, beaming. Chloe nods, taking over.

“There’s only enough oil for one night, but the lamps burn for eight, which is enough time for them to make more. It’s a miracle, see?”

Annabelle shrugs. “So? People say that all the time in lots of different religions. I don’t see you lining up to attend their religious ceremonies.”

Kelly presses a hard kiss to her forehead. “Shut up, Annabelle, and listen to the words at the ceremony. Maybe then you’ll understand why we all come.”

Feeling like she has once again screwed up (and knowing that she has, given the dirty looks Tania and Tara are giving her), Annabelle adjusts her St. Trinian’s hat and follows them all down the hallway toward the “special room,” as Kelly called it. Miss Fritton is standing in front of the doors, dressed in her best wool skirt and pearls (and really, if the girls can give her a makeover, can’t they give her Auntie one?), Matron at her elbow as always.

“Welcome, girls,” Miss Fritton says, her voice booming through the hall. Annabelle looks around and sees that the entire school is crammed in the hall and that she and her friends have front row seats, as it were. Girls are pressing forward eagerly on the stairs, shoving each other, looking ready to kill if it would get them closer to the room. Annabelle wonders what she’s about to witness in trepidation. Surely Chanukah isn’t _this_ special.

“As you all know, Chanukah holds a special place in all our hearts here at St. Trinian’s. The story of the Festival of Lights resonates with all of us. For those of you for whom this is your first celebration of Chanukah, I implore you seek out our Miss Polly Hopkins for the story. This is her last year here, and while Miss Winona Lempkin, Miss June Post, or Miss Emily Toshiba are as familiar with the story, it is a treat to hear it from Miss Hopkin’s mouth. Miss Hopkins would like to extend special thanks to Miss Harriet Bamford for her help in preparing for Chanukah, as ever. And now, I believe it’s just about sunset.”

Annabelle can feel the tension crackling around her as the room seems to hold its collective breath. Miss Fritton and Matron turn and open the doors and somewhere, one of the teachers turns out the lights in the hall. Annabelle fumbles as she is plunged into frightening blackness and someone- Kelly, she thinks, judging from the nails- grabs her hand.

It’s terrifying, this darkness. She has been in St. Trinian’s after curfew as early as her first night, when she tried to sneak out, but even then there was light, just a little. Enough that she could see. St. Trinian’s with all light gone is- it’s as though you know the monsters are out there, and your parents have lied to you and they are coming for you. It’s as though no light in the world will make it better. It’s as though you’re at the bottom of the ocean and the weight is bearing down on your chest and crushing you and you’re drowning and you’re just hoping, _praying_ (and Annabelle hasn’t prayed a day in her life, not a day, but she’d consider it now) that the end comes quickly and you don’t suffer long.

She’s panicking, Annabelle realizes. She’s panicking, and she’s in a crowd of two hundred in a school she loves and could walk blind in, and she’s still panicking. What’s more, she realizes, most everyone around her is panicking, or at least nervous.

This is _ridiculous_.

The thought does not help her panic at all. If anything, it just gets worse, because Kelly Fucking Jones is nervous, even if she’s controlling it better, and that is possibly the most terrifying thing in the world, and it’s just a bit of bloody darkness, and it shouldn’t be scary at all.

 _“Ha’am ha’holchim ba-choshekh ra’u or gadol,”_ says someone- says Polly, Annabelle realizes.

Two seconds behind her, someone else says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”

There is a flare of light, and then a single candle is lit in a small menorah in the center of the room. It shouldn’t seem like much- it’s a single candle, just one, and when Annabelle is reading in her bed with a flashlight, that light doesn’t seem like enough, and when she’s sneaking through her father’s house, a single candle doesn’t seem like enough- but in the midst of so much darkness, that single light is a comfort, and her panic ebbs away. Kelly gives her hand a squeeze.

In the dim light, Annabelle watches as the three younger girls look at the candle intensely while Polly watches solemnly. Winona licks her lips nervously and clears her throat.

 _“Baruch atah, Yah, eloheinu ruach ha’olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Chanukah,”_ Winona says. She’s young, and an Emo. She probably only picked her Clique this year, though of course Annabelle can’t be sure. Still, she’d place her bets only just thirteen.

“Blessed are you, Yah, Breath of Life, who sanctifies us with Your commandments and  
has enjoined upon us the mitzvah of lighting the Chanukah lights,” Polly translates.

 _“Baruch atah, Yah, eloheinu ruach ha’olam, she’asa nisim lavoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.”_ June is a year younger than them, and a Posh-Totty. Her Hebrew has a thick Irish accent, and if Annabelle remembers correctly, June is not one of the more desired Posh-Totties, but she has lots of friends in the school. She seems nice.

“Blessed are you, Yah, Breath of Life, Who made miracles for our ancestors in bygone  
days, at this time,” continues Polly.

 _“Baruch atah, Yah, eloheinu ruach ha’olam, shehecheyanu v’kiy’manu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.”_ Emily is a Chav, and Annabelle can see her black eye in the candlelight. Taylor is fiercely protective of her. Annabelle doesn’t know why, why some people get more protection than others, but there is something about the way that Emily holds herself that screams vulnerable more than tough. She stammers over her words, and keeps her head tucked down.

“Blessed are you, Yah, Breath of Life, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this moment,” Polly concludes, placing a pale hand on Emily’s shoulder.

And that seems to be it. There is a collective murmuring of “Amen” in a variety of languages, and then Polly shoos them all into the hall and closes the door behind them. For a moment there is darkness again, and then the lights are turned back on. The crowd swarms around her, laughing and happy, talking about the words and how Emily stammered and how June’s accent is so thick, and Annabelle just stands still.

“Here,” Miss Fritton says, handing her something. Annabelle takes what Auntie is shoving at her numbly, and then looks at it. It’s a handkerchief. She stares at it, and then looks at her Aunt Camilla. She’s smiling faintly.

“You’re crying, girlie. Wipe your face.”

She does so and is surprised to find that her Auntie is right, there are tears there. She hadn’t even realized. Miss Fritton takes her handkerchief back and takes her by the shoulder, leading her to her office. She directs Annabelle to the sofa and closes the door, the sound of merriment and discussion dying away to a dull hum behind the closed door.

“I imagine Carnaby raised you with his rant of God As A Money Swindler, didn’t he?” Miss Fritton says, pouring two drinks and then handing Annabelle a glass of water, keeping both drinks for herself.

“Yes, he said God was a scheme created by men.”

“My brother would say that, wouldn’t he? It’s a wonder we came from the same parents,” she snorts and flops dramatically into her desk chair, which creaks beneath her. Annabelle mentally makes a note to have a new chair delivered for Christmas.

“Are you religious, Aun- Miss Fritton?” she asks, correcting herself just in time.

“Oh, God no,” Miss Fritton says. “But I’m not an atheist either, before you start thinking that. I am a very comfortable agnostic. You’re an atheist, then?”

Annabelle stares at her for a long while and sips her water carefully. It is not that she suddenly believes in God. A candle in the darkness and a story about oil not running out does not negate sixteen years of lack-of-belief. But…

“That is- that is a very powerful ritual,” she says instead. It still makes her heart ache to think about it. Miss Fritton smiles and tosses back a glass of whiskey. At least, she thinks it’s whiskey. Tania and Tara and a few of the other girls gave her a primer and she gets a weekly quiz.

“I think they adjusted it a bit to account for us goyim, but isn’t it?”

******  
The next day, Annabelle goes and sits next to Polly before class begins. Polly is reading a book (in yet another language- how many languages does she know, anyway?) and not paying her any attention, and Annabelle clears her throat to get her attention. It takes a second, but Polly finally puts her book down and smiles faintly at her.

“Yes?”

“Most Geeks don’t believe in G- in a Divine Being,” Annabelle states, and Polly nods.

“I know,” she says.

“They say there isn’t any empirical evidence to suggest there is a Divine Being,” Annabelle insists. Polly pushes her glasses back more securely on her nose.

“Yes, they say that,” Polly agrees.

Annabelle frowns. “Well, you’re a Geek. And you clearly believe in Go- in a Divine Being. What do you say?”

Polly smiles quietly and opens her book again. “Where’s the empirical evidence saying there _isn’t_ a Divine Being?”

Well, there really isn’t anything to say to that.

******  
Annabelle leans back on Kelly’s knee, licking her lip tentatively. Of all the Christmas rituals, making the popcorn strings is probably her least favorite, but she does it every year, no matter where she is, and she’ll do it this year, even if it kills her. Which it might. She is not dexterous enough for this.

At least this year she doesn’t have to worry about Verity Thwaites coming in and ripping apart all her hard work and then beating her up. Yes, much better, this. She shudders slightly and spears the popcorn a little more viciously than she means to.

Kelly bobbles her knee and looks down at her. “You all right there, luv?”

“Just remembering Christmases past,” she mutters, and Kelly nods.

“I’ll keep a look out for a white-robed figure with a candle, then,” Kelly says, the amusement apparent in her voice. Annabelle frowns at the mention of candles, ignoring the Dickens reference.

“Is there a reason the entire school goes to the first day of Chanukah and the last, but not the middle days?” she asks. Kelly hums and shifts suddenly, causing Annabelle to fall into a heap between Kelly’s legs. She scowls, and Kelly just smirks at her, snagging some of her popcorn and eating it.

“Polly told me once. Let me see if I can remember. It devolved into lecture mode and I got bored. Move, my legs are asleep.”

Kelly stands when Annabelle moves, and steps over the strands of popcorn strings on the ground. They’ve gotten a pretty good length done, all things considered, but they’ve been working on it for a while. They’d have more, but Kelly keeps eating the popcorn.

“First of all, it’s not our religious celebration,” Kelly says suddenly. “She doesn’t- oh, what’s it, some fancy word, Harriet uses it all the time…”

“Appropriate,” Annabelle says. Harriet is very passionate.

“Right. Polly doesn’t want us appropriating Jewish religious festivals. Some things she wants to share, but it’s not our religion,” Kelly says, and Annabelle nods. That makes sense.

“The other thing is that Chanukah is apparently not a huge deal to Jews,” Kelly says, and Annabelle blinks.

“It’s- not?”

“I know. I thought it was like Jewish Christmas, but Polly called me a twat and told me that Christmas is important to Christians because of the birth of Christ, but Jews don’t care because their Messiah hasn’t come, so Christmas isn’t important. It was- weird,” Kelly confesses. “I mean, I haven’t been a practicing Christian in years, but my knee jerk reaction is still to recite Hail Mary’s and cross myself and to celebrate Christmas because _Jesus Christ_ was born, you know?”

No, Annabelle doesn’t know. All Christmas is to her is presents and Santa and Rudolph. There is no Saviour coming, there are no miracles, there is no light in the darkness.

She looks down at the popcorn in her hand and feels sick. All she gets is tinsel, twinkly lights, and popcorn on string.

“Excuse me,” she says, and rushes out of the room.

******  
Miss Fritton finds her an hour later walking through the snow on St. Trinian’s grounds. She doesn’t have her snow boots on, so her feet are soaked through, and she’s shivering. Miss Fritton is wearing a thick wool coat (of course- the woman lives in wool) and a warm looking muffler, and thick mittens and- ok, combat boots are not generally considered excellent snow boots, but they seem to be getting the job done. She’s also wearing a hat _and_ ear muffs. Annabelle is instantly jealous.

“You’ll catch yourself a death of a cold, Annabelle, here,” Miss Fritton says, immediately unwinding her muffler and handing it to her. Annabelle takes it gratefully and puts it on. Then Miss Fritton slaps her ear muffs on her head, startling her.

“Oh! Thank you, Miss Fritton,” she says, smiling weakly.

“Call me Aunt Millie. I think this is a Aunt to Niece conversation. And here, a thermos of hot cocoa. I’ve been watching you wonder as you wander for an hour already. What were you thinking, coming out here without proper protection? A girl should always have proper protection,” Miss Fritton leers, and Annabelle can’t help her blush. She is much more a St. Trinian’s girl now, but hearing these things coming from her _aunt_ of all people…

“I wasn’t thinking,” she admits.

“That much was obvious,” Miss Fritton blusters. Annabelle carefully opens the thermos and inhales deeply the scent of cocoa, and then coughs.

“Does this-?”

“Matron made it for me,” Miss Fritton deadpans. Yes, well. That would explain the scent of brandy, then. “Now what seems to be the problem.”

“Chanukah,” Annabelle says. They sit down on an old, crumbling bench. At least it looks old. It was brand new last week, before the twins got to it and blew it up. “And Christmas. And this entire damned season.”

“I was under the impression that you loved this season. You’ve been flitting about like a Christmas elf possessed,” Miss Fritton says, frowning.

“Yes, until the first day of Chanukah, when I saw what it could be!” Annabelle shouts. She slams down the thermos, the contents slopping over the side a bit, melting the snow with a hiss.

Miss Fritton frowns deeper and takes the thermos away from her. “What it could be? You have lights and snowflakes and snowmen…”

“And it doesn’t _mean_ anything, Auntie!” Annabelle says, frustrated. She stands up, beginning to pace. She doesn’t know what she means, because of course she loves Christmas. She doesn’t believe in God, or the Divine Being, or whatever, but- “All these years, Christmas has just been the time when Daddy and I have given each other a bunch of rubbish that we don’t need, and I’ve always- I’ve always hung decorations and made things and it’s been fun, but he’s never really enjoyed it. He’s always done it because I loved it. He’d much rather I just- that I stop. And at Cheltenham, they- they always. Well. It was always ruined.”

She stops, because this isn’t what she means to say, and she doesn’t quite know what she means to say. She takes a deep breath and looks at her Auntie, who is just waiting patiently, waiting for her to say the words, waiting without trying to give her words that don’t actually mean what she wants to say. Waiting. Patiently.

And four months ago, she’d only met her Aunt Camilla three times, and somehow, this woman means more to her than anyone else in her family, and this woman understands her better, and it’s a bit painful to realize that her own daddy doesn’t understand her.

“Polly has a tradition,” she says finally. “Polly, no matter where she is, no matter what she does with her life, will be able to turn around at this time of year and light a goddamned candle and know that there are people doing the same thing at the same time. She- she has _words_ , and a _history_ , and it _means_ something. And- and Kelly told me today that she doesn’t even- she doesn’t practice Christianity, but she still crosses herself and says Hail Mary’s and Christmas still means the day of Jesus’s birth to her, and so wherever she is in the world, Christmas will still have a history for her. It will still have a _meaning_.”

Annabelle looks at her Auntie and feels tears well up in her eyes. “And all it means for me is a day that I give gifts to people.”

It’s pathetic, she thinks, that she’s crying because she doesn’t believe in God, really. From the way she’s read history over the years, most people cry because they _do_ believe in God, and now people are killing them for it, or they have to go kill people for it, or because it’s really fucking hard to believe in their particular God. But she’s never heard of someone crying because they don’t believe in God. Or a God. And she doesn’t even want to, is the thing. She likes being an atheist. But she does wish she had something to belong to.

“Oh, girlie,” she hears Miss Fritton sigh, and she’s wrapped up in arms. She’s momentarily surprised; her Auntie is not demonstrative. She can’t even call her Auntie, for heaven’s sake. The hug doesn’t last long, but she feels a quick kiss to the top of her head, and then Miss Fritton pushes her away and holds her by the shoulders, looking her in the face, eyes fierce.

“Now you listen to me. Carnaby Fritton is a shit. The Fritton family has many a fine tradition, even if he forgot to raise you with them.”

“But none like Polly or Kelly,” she says miserably. Miss Fritton snorts.

“Of course not. Of course, Kelly has rejected hers, if you’ll notice, and Polly has chosen to share hers, so at least some of it will soon be yours. Stop being so melodramatic. And in a little while, you’ll have a St. Trinian’s holiday under your belt. Annabelle Fritton, you’re going to be a very lucky woman. You’re going to have Jewish tradition, Christian tradition, Fritton tradition, and the best- St. Trinian tradition- in your holiday repertoire by the time you leave this fine institution. Now come along. I have a roaring fire in my office and some of Anoushka’s eggnog waiting for us.”

Miss Fritton leads the way, her boots leaving large marks in the snow. Annabelle follows in her footsteps.

******  
And so begins Annabelle’s education in Tradition and Meaning.

Literally. Miss Fritton clears one of the classrooms and writes the words on the board and makes it a special class for the next five days. Every student in the school is welcome to enroll in the class, and they’re excused from whichever class they’re in that conflicts.

“Religious students have traditions and meanings around this time of year,” Miss Fritton announces to the school at breakfast the next morning, “and I believe those are extremely important, and I welcome them into the classroom. But it has recently been brought to my attention that agnostic and atheist students can occasionally feel lost in these times when religious students can turn to their collective religious histories, and they cannot. So I turn to open this class when we girls can not only learn the collective religious histories, but learn family histories that are offered to make them collective as well, so at this time of year, St. Trinian’s girls around the year will have something to turn to, a history that is shared among ourselves.”

Part of Annabelle thinks that St. Trinian’s girls will turn up their noses at this, but to her shock and amazement, they end up having to have the class in the dining hall because almost the entire student body turns up for it. Harriet Bamford volunteers to keep a record of everything that happens in the class so it can be passed down through the years in case the oral tradition breaks down, and so they get started.

It begins shakily. No one is sure where to start, and they only have five days. Finally, Polly throws up her hands in disgust at the inefficiency of everything, stands up in front of everyone and says, “In my family, during Chanukah, the women gather in the kitchen and make latkes together. Let’s make latkes.”

So they make latkes. And it turns out that Ashkenazi Jews make latkes, and Winona is Sephardic and wants to make sufganiyot, which is a sort of doughnut, so they make sufghaniyot. Then some students mention that Bodhi Day is in December, and so they teach everyone to make cookies in the shape of trees and in the shape of leaves- which is really simple, since the leaves are in the shape of hearts. Then when Peaches and Harriet point out that Ashura often falls around the time of December, Peaches teaching fasting while Harriet explains different mourning rituals, depending on the sect.

They forget to stay within the confines of December, and they fling UK traditions out the window, and they learn traditions and meanings for Pakistani women in July, courtesy of Harriet, who transmits them from a graduated St. Trinian’s girl. They light candles and build fires and hang lights and make origami and learn henna designs and dance and sing and tell stories and tall tales. They fast and they feast. They get frustrated together when a few of the girls announce that in their families, the women quilt and dammit, they’re all going to learn how to quilt, and so they sit around a quilt and try to quilt their stories. At that point, Miss Fritton tosses her hands in the air and cancels classes all together, so long as they come to the dining hall at eight every morning. They learn how to cook particular foods, but they also learn how to burn particular foods, because in some families it’s an inside joke. They paint Easter eggs and learn how to hide them underneath floorboards, because three different girls always hide one beneath the floorboards. They throw paint for Holi, which turns out to be extremely messy but so much fun that they invade the boy’s school next door with it. They burn incense. Half of them bring each other breakfast in bed one day, and then trade the next. They swap jokes and puns and family trees, and soon they can all tell stories about each others Uncle Herbert who did that thing that one time at that one event. Annabelle laughs and cries and leans against Kelly and Polly, twining her hands between theirs.

The afternoon before the last night of Chanukah, Annabelle is sitting next to Celia and carefully working on her quilt square (and really, she is not good at sewing, but it’s the effort that counts, she thinks) when a little First Year comes and tells her that Miss Fritton would like to see her. Surprised, she looks at Celia, who shrugs and waves good-bye. She walks idly down the hall, glancing at the door to the Chanukah room, where Polly has been closeted for the past two nights, and then knocks on Miss Fritton’s door.

“Enter,” her Auntie’s voice calls, sounding distracted. She walks in.

Miss Fritton is puffing away on a cigarette, holding a box in her hand and staring down at it with a look of fierce concentration. Annabelle sits at her appointed spot on the sofa and waits, knowing at her Auntie will speak in good time. After a moment, Miss Fritton looks up and beams.

“Ah, Annabelle! Yes, yes, good. Now then. I have an early Christmas present for you,” Miss Fritton says.

“I didn’t realize we were exchanging presents early, Auntie, or I would have brought yours,” Annabelle says, alarmed. In truth, the new desk chair hasn’t arrived yet, and she hasn’t wrapped the pearl choker yet. Miss Fritton waves an impatient hand.

“I said _early_ Christmas present, girlie, don’t you listen? We’re not exchanging yet. It’s not Christmas day yet. Though you should now, in the Fritton family, we exchange one present at midnight, so be prepared. I like hard liquor and hard men,” Miss Fritton says, cackling suddenly. Annabelle blinks, and wonders if Matron with a ribbon on her head will do in a pinch and then quickly shoves the thought out of her head because God no. “Now, here. Merry Christmas and whatnot.”

Miss Fritton shoves a crudely wrapped box in her hands. Annabelle takes it before it can tumble to the ground and doesn’t so much as unwrap it as move the paper to the side. When she lifts to the top, she discovers a Star of David on a thin chain. She frowns.

“Auntie, I- the Chanukah ritual was beautiful, and I loved it, but I’m not _converting_ or anything.”

Miss Fritton looks at her and grins slyly. “Turns out you don’t need to. It’s Josephine’s.”

It takes Annabelle a moment to figure out who Miss Fritton is talking about, because it’s been twelve years since she’s heard the name spoken aloud, but when she does, it’s like a punch to the gut. Josephine. As in Josephine Leroux Fritton. Her mother.

“My mother- my mother was Jewish?” she asks, and then presses a hand to her mouth.

“I’m going to massacre Carnaby. It wasn’t so much that he hid it from you, it was that he didn’t deem it important.”

“He didn’t deem anything about my mother important,” Annabelle says numbly, and touches the necklace. She doesn’t remember much about her mother. Just brief flashes of light and smiles, and maybe a laugh. Yes, she remembers a laugh.

Miss Fritton sits down next to her and lifts the necklace out of the box. For a wild moment, Annabelle wants to rip it out of her hands, wants to claw her Auntie’s eyes out for daring to touch what was her mother’s, but then Miss Fritton is brushing her hair aside and closing the necklace around her neck, and the Star is hanging over her heart.

“Josephine was a strong, intelligent, graceful woman,” Miss Fritton says. “I admired her.”

“You knew her?” Annabelle asks. She presses her hand to the necklace, letting it grow warm beneath her hand. Miss Fritton shrugs and smiles.

“I introduced them. She was an artist. A dancer too, a good one. We were friends. Not bosom buddies, you understand, but the sort that always had tea when I was in London. Your father saw a piece of her art in my flat and wanted her work in his gallery, and so I introduced them.” Miss Fritton leans back and flourishes her hands. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Did he love her?” she asks. Miss Fritton sighs.

“I think he loved the idea of her. It was always enough that she loved you, in my eyes.”

Annabelle looks down at the necklace in her hands. Her mother died when she was four, maybe five. She doesn’t remember anymore. She knows it was breast cancer. There is exactly one photo of her in the entire house, and it’s a portrait of the three of them. Her father’s smile is painfully false, but her mother looks happy enough.

“Do- do you have any photos of her? Daddy only has the one family portrait,” Annabelle asks. Miss Fritton shakes her head in exasperation.

“There should be tests for who is allowed to breed! I don’t have them on me. Give me a few days.”

Annabelle nods, and looks down at the necklace again.

“My mother was Jewish,” she says softly.

“Yes, and according to what Polly tells me, that technically makes you Jewish. It’s passed through the mother’s lines. You’ll have to talk to Polly for more information,” Miss Fritton says. She pauses, considering. “Does that bother you?”

Annabelle licks her lips. “I still don’t believe in God.”

“I think Josephine would be very disappointed if you believed in God just because she did.”

Annabelle nods slowly. “I need time to think about the rest.”

Miss Fritton nods and stands. “Very good. Now get out, I have work that needs to be done.”

******  
As before, the entire school is decked to the nines for the Chanukah ritual. This time, Annabelle understands. This time, she is prepared. She brought a handkerchief and didn’t wear eyeliner or mascara.

Kelly holds her hand as they walk into the hallway. Once again, they are accorded the very front of the crowd, which Annabelle suspects is because Kelly is not just Head Girl but Polly’s best friend. To her surprise, though, Kelly elbows her forward so that she is standing at the very front of the group. She scowls at Kelly and arranges it so that Tara and Tania are at least in front of her- they’re too short to be behind them. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.

There is no Miss Fritton and Matron to prepare them. The lights just go out, and the darkness surrounds them, and panic isn’t as bad this time, but it is still there. There really is nothing like St. Trinian’s in absolute darkness. She wonders if it is part of their defensive maneuvers. Kelly snakes a hand up along her back and rests it on her shoulder. She takes a breath.

She hears, rather than sees, the doors open. She should, she thinks, be able to see at least a suggestion of them opening. They’re only four feet away. But she can’t.

Polly appears suddenly, a candle in her hand, and the three girls carefully recite two of the blessings from the first day of Chanukah as she lights eight candles in a small menorah in the center of the room. Polly translates even as she lights them, and it’s unbearably solemn. Annabelle thinks that there should be more happiness- after all, they’re commemorating a miracle- but Polly does everything with an air of calm that borders on somberness.

When the blessings are done, Polly turns to look at the assembled crowd. She smiles slightly.

“Let us remember our duty to seek freedom for all, because we remember oppression. Let us dedicate ourselves to _tikkun olam_ , the healing of the world, as our holy sanctuary was once re-dedicated at this season. Let us carry Divine Light into the world in this season of darkness.”

And then Polly’s small smile grows exponentially, and she hits something in her hand, and the room _fills_ with light.

There are thousands of candles in the room, thousands. There are candles everything, covering every surface. There is only a small aisle way uncovered, just enough room for Polly, Emily, Winona and June to walk, and that’s it, because everywhere else is a candle. There are enough candles that Annabelle is actually having to cover her face from the light- it’s like staring into the _sun_ , it’s so bright.

From the sounds of exclamation behind her, she takes it that this is not how Polly normally ends Chanukah.

Polly laughs brightly, and Annabelle unshields her eyes to look at her in astonishment, because Polly is _laughing_. She walks across the room, which Annabelle can’t figure out how she’s doing because a) _candles everywhere_ and b) she’s wearing a skirt, a long one, and she really should have caught on fire by now. She reaches the windows and throws open the curtains, and there are _electric candles_.

Well, of course, Annabelle thinks numbly. We wouldn’t want to set the building on fire.

But it doesn’t seem to be the electric candles that Polly is drawing everyone’s attention to. Through the windows, Annabelle can just make out Harriet and- Celia, she realizes. And there are two giant menorahs on the grounds. Made out of-

“Oh dear God,” she hears Kelly say behind her. “Are those fireworks?”

Annabelle doesn’t get a chance to respond, because the menorahs go shooting off into the sky, one arm of the menorah at a time, the _shamash_ last on each menorah. Behind her, Annabelle can hear girls screaming in delight as they press themselves to the windows to watch. She feels her mouth twist into a smile as she starts to laugh. She looks over and locks eyes with Polly who is beaming mischievously.

“Happy Chanukah!” she shouts over the din, and Polly just laughs in response.

The lights are still off in the hallway, but the candles are burning brightly in the Chanukah room and the fireworks are going off outside. Polly walks over and Annabelle grabs her, pulling her into a hug and pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and then groping behind her for Kelly, dragging her into the hug.

Her mother’s Star of David hangs around her neck, she’s apparently Jewish, and she doesn’t believe in God. But she believes in her friends, and she believes in St. Trinian’s, and she’s found her light in the darkness. She has her miracle. It’s enough.


End file.
